


Tomorrow

by Hiver_Frost_Elf



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Coldwave Weekend 2018, Collars, Dom/sub, Hand Feeding, Kneeling, Leashes, Multi, Older Man/Younger Man, angst stay the hell away from my kinky shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 16:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15295542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiver_Frost_Elf/pseuds/Hiver_Frost_Elf
Summary: Today hadn’t gone over so well for Hartley, but tomorrow aimed to be better—starting with tonight!





	Tomorrow

“Want help with that?”

“I don’t—I don’t need help with my coat!”

Len hummed an _uh-huh_ sound.  They could see Hartley’s hand shaking ‘round his zipper.

“Didn’t ask if you needed help,” Mick clasped Hartley’s hands after hanging up his own coat. “Asked if ya wanted help.”

Mick and Len knew from experience that it was difficult asking for and accepting assistance after so long scrabbling at life all alone, but they hated seeing their Sweethart struggle.  This wasn’t the same thing as wrestling against unruly tech: a match he’d eventually win; this was a corpse twitching after a finishing blow.

Hartley’s hair fell in front of his eyes.  His lips wobbled, “...Please.”

Mick stabilized him as they pulled down the zipper together.  Len hung it up while Mick rubbed soothing cirles in Hartley’s back.

“I’m going to grab your collar,” Len gently brushed Hartley’s hair out of his eyes. “Would you like your leash, too?”

It was better to frame these sorts of questions as wants rather than needs.  A childhood as the ignored-by-parents, pampered-by-staff prince of the Rathaways trained him to take what he wanted, but it also taught him not to need anything.

Hartley usually didn’t need or want his leash—he had to be in the mood for it, so it came as a bittersweet surprise when Hartley nodded his head.  It brought a warm glimmer to Len and Mick’s souls to know that Hartley trusted them so deeply, but also a cold wind knowing that Hartley had sunk so low.

Len came back with a green leather collar and matching leash.  Three charms hung and clinked on the collar: a green eighth beam, a mini marshmallow encapsulated in ice, and a flame.

Hartley picked his head off Mick’s shoulder to receive it.  His eyes slipped shut.  He breathed easier once Len secured it and the leash.

Len and Mick shared a look before Mick passed Hartley off to Len, who settled on the couch.

“Mick’s going to make a midnight snack, and I’m going to stay with you,” Len said as he held him. “Would you like me to keep holding you, or would you prefer to be on your knees?”

“Knees.”

“Alright,” Len spread his legs and lightly squeezed Hartley’s hip. “No sucking.  Just kneel.”

Hartley’s eyes spiked up towards his.  Len knew Hartley was too exhausted for sex tonight, but Hartley’s fucked over heart would call it not earning his keep.

“Lenny and I are old, Sweethart,” Mick said from the kitchen.  Just what Len was thinking. “Can’t keep up with you whippersnappers.”

“Oh...”

That got him settled.  His knees were on the carpet, further padded by his jeans, snug between Len’s legs with his head sinking towards Len’s thigh.  Hartley squeaked out a needy sound when Len carded through his hair.  His eyes shut again no matter how much he tried to force his body _to be strong_ , even when he knew he was safe here, with them.

Len and Mick juggled letting him snag as much rest as possible and fixing up something filling quick.  Len heard the _thud thud thud_ of a knife against a cutting board, Mick shuffling through the refrigerator yet not the pantry.

Len guessed fruit salad.

Len was right.

So much ran through Hartley’s mind at any given moment—inventions, improvements, snarky comebacks—that they didn’t want to rouse him, but Len swore he heard Hartley’s stomach growl during that night’s heist.  He might’ve skipped a meal if he was wrapped up in his workshop—and he most certainly was robbing himself of sleep if his lavender-rimmed eyes meant anything.

Perhaps tomorrow would be a good time to negotiate their master plan with Hartley: keep him in bed for a full day—minus bathroom breaks, duh—no electronics, no tools; just resting, fucking, and feeding.

Len fed him a raspberry first.  They were immediately grateful they officially declared no sex tonight.  Hartley wasn’t even licking off the juices as an excuse to chase Len’s fingers.  Even the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed was sluggish.

Mick and Len alternated filling him up.  Pineapples, blueberries, melons, bananas: everything in soft bits that required minimal chewing just in case.

Mick ran his fingers through Hartley’s hair once the fruit salad was done, “Time for fuckin’ bed.”

“Hm,” Len agreed, standing once Mick gathered Hartley up.  Len stayed close, Hartley’s leash a tether to each other while Mick had his bundle of exhausted genius.

Mick laid Hartley between them once Len took the collar and leash off.  Hartley stirred slightly from the movement of their removal and the lack of sensation that came with it, but they’d put them back on in the morning—if Hartley wanted.  But first and foremost, they didn’t want him starved for oxygen as much as he was starving himself of everything else he needed.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

A better day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking time to read this; enjoy the final day of Coldwave Weekend!


End file.
